


Love and War

by melanie1982



Category: New Kids On The Block
Genre: Civil War references, F/M, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5574142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I read a romance novel about a Civil War soldier who haunted his reincarnated lover, and it was beautiful (Hope Tarr's 'The Haunting'). I've toyed with the idea of a reincarnation story for a while, so here goes. This story has one character switch genders from one life to the next; many reincarnationists believe that can happen. I am not by any means a Civil War buff, so historical info will be minimal to avoid making huge errors. </p><p>This story is tentatively finished as of 1/19/2016, with the possibility of adding more later on</p><p>This story is fiction. I make no money from this story. I don't know the characters in real life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and War

The night had been uneventful, but as dawn broke, the violence began again. Shots rang out, and Confederate soldier Jacob Lewis sprang into action, weapon in hand. In truth, Jacob hated war in general, and this one in particular, but he was determined to live through this, to survive and see peace settle upon his homeland once more. Jacob Lewis was a simple man, a farmer; he loved the natural laws, the balance in creation, and the changing of the seasons ran through his blood. They were heading into summer, and Jacob longed for the day when summer would once again mean working long, hard days in the fields, bared to the waist, drenched in sun and sweat. For now, he had to endure the stifling confinement of his uniform, the proximity of the other men's equally overheated forms, and the merciless stinging smoke of the weaponry as it discharged. He didn't want to hurt or kill anyone, but he had to fight to survive. "Do what you have to do; just come home to us," his sister had begged him as he left. Jacob didn't want to let her down.

Jacob had been having strange dreams for the past few weeks. In them, he was lying on the ground, wounded - not an unusual dream for a man in a combat zone - when a nurse with a kind face rushed to attend to him. As she dressed his wounds, she gradually transformed into a handsome man, dressed in strange clothes unlike anything Jacob had ever seen. The eyes, however, stayed the same; they were so full of love, and looked upon him as a treasure, familiar and precious. Those eyes stayed with him upon waking, and for a man like Jacob, who rarely recalled his dreams, it was both unnerving and strangely comforting. Perhaps it was a sign of good things to come. There was so much hope in those eyes, and every man in this damned mess needed hope to cling to.

The battle raged on for what felt like days, and both sides endured multiple casualties. As night fell, the shots grew fewer and farther between, both armies weary and in need of respite. The dream came again, visiting his tent like an old friend, and Jacob welcomed it. This time, things were different; the woman stopped, looked at him with a grave face, and said, "Soon."

Jacob moaned in his sleep. "Soon what?"

The voice replied. "You'll see me soon."

Unlike many of his fellow soldiers, Jacob didn't have a wife or a sweetheart waiting for him. It wasn't that he didn't think about it, but so many of the girls back home were flighty, dainty things, women who wouldn't or couldn't help him run a farmstead. He'd rather do it on his own than try to coerce a woman into tasks she deemed to be beneath her. Things were changing; as humankind invented more labor-saving devices, people began to find new ways of doing things - as if faster was always better! No; the old ways had worked for eons, and that's what Jacob built his goals upon: working the land with body and soul, putting his all into it, come what may. Despite being from the South, Jacob found slavery repugnant, and he was determined that if he had help on his land, it would be on a paid, voluntary basis. His dreams shifted to visions of vast expanses of crops, healthy livestock, and a solid home, built by his own hands. The woman dream was nearly forgotten by morning.

The day seemed like so many which had preceded it, but it would be the day that changed everything in Jacob's life - and in lives to come.

Something went horribly wrong. Jacob saw a man's skull shatter directly to his left; then the man to his right clutched his bloodied abdomen and leaned over, writhing in agony as his body absorbed the round. Searing pain rocked him to the core, and he was down, hit, staring skyward as he counted every breath. The bullet had pierced his left shoulder, though, fortunately, it had exited the other side. Jacob felt hands dragging him away, and he tried to speak: "The others; take the others first.." Then everything went black.

The next thing he saw was the inside of a medical tent, hearing the chaos as nurses scrambled to tend to their patients as the fighting continued just a short distance away. The pain wore off as he began to go into shock. A female voice wisely advised him not to look at the wound, and Jacob took her warning to heart. "The bullet is out; the greatest risk is infection," a man said. Were they talking about him? Where were the two men who had been beside him? He felt foolish; clearly the one whose brains had been splattered was dead. Jacob was given a liberal dose of whiskey before the wound was bandaged, and sleep overtook him.

How many days did he spend drifting in and out of consciousness? Fever had broken out in the camps, making no distinction between the different sides, and Jacob felt weak to the point of death. Most of the time, he didn't open his eyes, for it didn't seem worth the effort. There were fewer men to fight now; the bodies were piling up, claimed by nature rather than by warfare. Jacob began to sense the difference between the nurses by the feel of their hands, and one in particular became dear to him. She was firm but gentle, and he looked forward to her help, even when it hurt.

"Am I going to die?" The words forced their way past his lips one afternoon as he was tended to.

"I don't know," came the honest reply. "The wound is healing fine, but the fever has made you weak." The voice was kind, and Jacob hazarded a peek.

"It's you," he said, and she smiled, not comprehending. So many soldiers had called out in the delirium of disease or injury, thinking she was their mother, sister or lover; some had deemed her an angel, others, a ghost.

"Yes," she said brightly, glad to be of comfort to the man. Abigale was born and raised in Maine, but she had experience treating the wounded on both sides of the divide. Her calling was to bring hope to any victim of the conflict without getting involved in politics.

"You were in my dreams," Jacob continued, watching the woman shake her head. "I mean before, before I was wounded. I saw you.."

She stopped cold, dropping the fresh bandage she'd been preparing for him. "Before?"

When Jacob saw her turn pale, he tried to backpedal, maybe change the subject.. "What is your name?"

She replied, hesitantly. "Abigale. Abigale Crawford."

Abigale hadn't told anyone about her strange dreams. In them, she tended to a wounded soldier in Confederate uniform, though she could never see his face clearly. He had dark hair, and she got the sense that he was young and handsome, but his appearance was not what moved her. There was a feeling of 'Oh, there you are!,' a sense that she'd been expecting to meet him, and now that event had occurred. In her dreams, the soldier told her he had dreamed of her, and this.. this was..

"I don't believe it." Was she speaking to him, or to herself? Jacob wasn't sure.

"I didn't mean to upset you." His voice was clearer, steadier now, almost healthy. "My name is Jacob Lewis. It's nice to meet you, Ms Crawford. Thank you for taking such good care of me."

Abigale blushed. "Please call me Abigale." Unlike her patients, she couldn't attribute her strange dreams to illness or trauma. As she surrendered to sleep that night, the dream changed: The face was finally revealed to her, with Jacob Lewis' dark eyes, strong nose, and fine mouth. The fine mouth whispered her name, not in pain or fever, but passionately, as a lover. Abigale knew this man would change her life, that a chain of events had begun which no mortal could stop or control, and that all they could do was hold on.  
It had been weeks since his inury, and the wound had healed. The fever, however, had marked him, weakening his heart and starting the countdown to the end. Abigale had fewer excuses to hover over him now; he was due to be cleared to return to active duty any day. Spending time with him was becoming more difficult to arrange, and they both knew it.

"I don't want to get you in trouble, and I know you have others to see to. I just.." Jacob was torn, almost wishing he could sustain another non-fatal injury, just to buy them more time.

Abi placed a hand over his. "I understand." Neither of them had made an outright profession of love, but the emotions were there, bubbling under the surface of every touch, every glance or verbal exchange. At last, Jacob was given orders to return to duty. As his nurse looked on, he put on his uniform and armed himself for battle.

"When the war is over," he began, and her breath caught in her throat. Would it ever end? How many more good men had to suffer and die in the meantime? What if..? He saw where her mind was headed, and he knew he couldn't dismiss her concerns. "When it's over," he tried again, and she listened, tears begin to roll down her cheeks. "I will find you. I don't care which side of the divide you're on when the smoke clears; I don't care what your family thinks, or mine.." She nodded. "I will come for you, if you'll have me. I've seen how good, how sweet, how bright and hard-working you are, and I couldn't find a better wife. When it's safe, Abi, will you marry me?"

His words were oxygen to her. She'd had plenty of soldiers make proposals to her - some involving matrimony, some not - but none of them had moved her. Jacob was her one, and she knew she'd marry him or die a spinster. Family, politics, geography - none of them would dissuade her.

"I will. Of course I will." He smiled, and she knew that look on his face would be burned in her memory for all time.

"I don't have a ring to give to you. I don't even know if my family's land will still be there for me when this is over. But I swear to you, on all that is true, that I will make a life for the two of us. You will never go without; I will work every hour God sends to provide for you, care for you, the way you've cared for me." She knew he was a man of his word, and she clung to the dream he offered her. It was her solace through many dark nights, the nights when she could not stop the life from bleeding out of a young man's body, when she could provide only the most meager of comforts to those departing this plane. Abi held tight to his promise every time fresh casualties were carried into the tent, and each time she heard of more soldiers being buried in haste. God forgive her, but, every corpse she saw, she said a prayer of thanks that it wasn't Jacob's.

He had been assigned a reconnaissance mission, along with three of his unit's best men. The others were experienced trackers, stealthy, fearless, and he felt out of his depth - but he did his best to learn as they went. During an especially arduous trek through dense woods, Jacob stopped to rest by a small spring. The forest floor was cool beneath him, the tree, older than all of them put together, a welcome object to lean against. The water tasted sweet, as unpolluted as the air they breathed. The bloodshed had not yet marred this forest. Sitting there, without another soul for as far as they could see, it was tempting to imagine there was no danger, that all the world was as tranquil and lovely as this spot. Jacob closed his eyes for a moment, listening to his own breathing, trying to slow his racing heart.

"Lewis?" The oldest on the mission had an edge of concern in his voice, which he was trying to rein in.

"I'm okay. Just.. Been so tired lately. I can't quite get my breath."

Two of the men exchanged a look. Jacob tried to clear his throat, but it sent him into a coughing fit which left him wheezing.

"Lay him down! Now!" The two younger men made a makeshift bed out of their packs, allowing Jacob to take a semi-reclined position. His cheeks bulged and sank by turns as he struggled to suck in air.

"Easy, son, easy," Holmes coaxed, mentally calculating how far they were from the nearest help, fearing it was too late.

"I'm sorry to be a bother," Jacob choked out, cursing himself for his own weakness.

"You just rest there. Just close your eyes and give yourself a minute."

He tried to relax his chest, to let his lungs expand and replenish themselves, but his muscles seemed to be locking up. The pain began beneath his ribs, sharp, searing pain, and he tried to speak - but words wouldn't come. The other three scrambled, trying to rouse him, but he was numb now, on the outside looking in. It was as if the sun had descended upon them, swallowing him in its brilliance, and then he was somewhere else, away from the men, the trees, and all he had ever known. He was floating against the ceiling of the tent, watching her work, trying to comfort a boy of about fifteen as he called out for his mother. She would be heartbroken, he knew, but she would live; he could see it all now, the rest of her life stretching out before him like a dream. Abi would live, enjoying fair health and reaching a good old age, and then he would see her again, when the time came. He wanted to go to her, to say goodbye, but he couldn't reach her. "Soon," he promised, echoing her words in his dreams.  
Things didn't work out quite the way he expected.

He had been correct; Abi did survive the war. She never married, caring for her parents in their old age, then having the house to herself when they were gone. She taught her nursing skills to anyone who was interested, and she continued her own education by amassing a considerable library of medical books. Jacob was never far from her thoughts, even toward the end, and she faced her final days, not with fear, but curiosity and sweet anticipation. As she left her body, she had no regrets; hers had been a life lived in service and the pursuit of knowledge, which would set the tone for future lifetimes. Upon reaching the beyond, Abi reviewed her life, relishing her accomplishments and learning from her mistakes. She finally got the missing information about her love, the unanswered questions now put to rest.

"I didn't mean to leave you," Jacob sighed, welcoming her to the light.

"I knew it. I knew." There was no bitterness, only a sense of what could have been.

"I promised you a life together, and I failed. I wanted to.. There is a way, Abi. We can go back."

"Go back?"

Jacob smiled, melting her doubts. "Yes. We didn't get to finish what we started. We can ask for another chance, down there. Each of us can receive a new body, a chance to find one another and make a life together."

It was not without its risks. Having just slipped out of that mortal prison, did she really want to go back, back to a body which could ache or burn or be destroyed? On the other hand, didn't she want a chance to be young again, to grow and learn and add to what she had already achieved?

"What if we don't find each other? Do we meet here, or do we have to try again and again, until we get it right?"

Jacob wasn't sure. "I believe we'll find each other. We found each other before, didn't we?"

It was so tempting to follow that hope. "I don't know."

Jacob looked at the world, the years rushing by, technologies advancing, empires rising and falling, lives and loves being enjoyed. "I'd like another chance. If you want to stay here, I'll understand."

Abi made up her mind. "I'll try again, Jacob. Only.."

He knew what would help. "I'll go first. Once you see that it's possible, and that I'm okay, you can choose to try it yourself."

Jacob began to search through the millions of potential parents, finding some he thought would suit him. "Them. I'm going, Abi. Whether here or there, I hope to see you soon."

She couldn't see the family he chose, couldn't know his new identity. She got updates on how he was doing, but no details. Finding him would take a miracle.

Luckily, the Universe had a miracle in store.

Jacob was reborn in the year 1968. Abi chose to follow soon after, returning in 1969. Neither of them would have any concrete memories of the afterlife or of the lessons they chose for their new lifetime, but there would be clues along the way, like trail markers, for them to find. The balance between pre-ordained choices and free will is difficult to explain, but, each of them had the opportunity to change their life plan in significant ways - even if it meant being apart. Nobody would force them to be together; it had to be a mutual decision, and it had to happen when they were both ready for it.

Jacob - now Jon - retained many of the same facial features he had had in his Civil War life. Looking in the mirror as a young man, he often got the vague sense that he was forgetting something, though he could never say what. He was a staunch pacifist, though he had a great respect for those who felt the call to military service; he knew that freedom was not free, and he appreciated that so many were willing to make sacrifices to defend the life he held so dear. Abi was now Donnie, having switched genders for her new lifetime. Donnie would have no conscious memory of having lived as a woman, though he retained a strong feminine side, seeing it as an asset rather than a flaw. His emotions ran deep, a traditionally 'female' trait, and he had a strong rapport with women, understanding them on a level many men could only dream of. As a result, women loved him, and he was sometimes less than a gentleman in his intimate affairs. It wasn't that he was a bad person; he simply had too much to give for one woman to handle, and his curiosity and enthusiasm gave him a restless heart. Jon had deep emotional scars from his life as Jacob, as well as lives prior to that, so, this time around, he had chosen to love men. When he finally figured that out (he wasn't allowed to remember the choices he made before getting a new body), he was already half in love with Donnie. Donnie was able to feel attractions toward people of both genders, but he kept those feelings to himself. The two had crossed paths through the band, and over the years of their youth, there were many times of.. tension, an undercurrent of something they couldn't pinpoint. The others wondered: was it a sort of faux sibling rivalry? Was either one jealous of the other's success? Could it be some sort of sexual tension? The arguments followed a pattern: petty verbal barbs, escalating to screaming, followed by hours or days of silence. Eventually, one or the other (usually Donnie) would begin to thaw, charming his way back into Jon's good graces. Fight, avoid, make up, repeat. Such was life.

As adults, with fewer issues of raging hormones to contend with, their rekindled friendship became something deeper. Though their lives had diverged in every way - Jon had made no attempts to regain the glare of the spotlight, and had firmly rooted himself on the east coast, whereas Donnie had been busy in the west trying to keep his name and face out there in public view - they found they had missed each other. With the implosion of Donnie's marriage, that bond deepened, and though Jon couldn't relate to the pain of missing one's kids, he knew how it felt to nurse a broken heart. The others took a wait-and-see approach, unsure that the old issues, whatever they were, had magically dissolved in their time apart, but there was a sense of renewed optimism, and a camaraderie which only came from having grown up together and lived through surreal experiences together. Donnie and Jon understood one another in a way most friends, famous or not, couldn't relate to; not many people had achieved the level of fame they had, at the age they had. NKOTB part one was a note in history, never to be repeated, and outsiders would never fully 'get' what it had been like. As one of the shyer ones, Jon had felt it more deeply than most, and for him to come back for NKOTB 2.0 took a lot. Donnie found a new level of respect for his friend, and took every opportunity to let him know it.

On occasion, usually when the liquid refreshments were flowing too freely, the two would find themselves the only ones still up, Jon the victim of insomnia, and Donnie the sworn enemy of sleep. Once the small talk was worn thin, the two would broach more serious subjects - delicately, curious as nibbling fish. Jon worked up the nerve to ask an important question.

"So, why did you hate my guts so much back in the day? I'm not gonna get mad," he hastened to add, tamping down his Sagittarian temper. "I just wanna know."

Donnie looked as if he'd been slapped. "I didn't hate you, Jon, not ever. Are you talkin' about when you left the group?" He was stalling, dancing around the truth, and Jon saw it. Donnie might be the better dancer, but he wasn't going to side-step this.

"Nah. Before that. Me and you, more than the others, we'd get into it, over the stupidest shit. Why?" His eyes burned, bright and clear and full, and Donnie felt his mouth go dry, needing another drink in the worst way.

"Jon, I.. We were kids - kids with too much money and the world at our feet. I'll be honest, there are days that are a blur to me, or even a blank. It was all so much."

Jon waited a beat, not satisfied. When Donnie shrank into himself a little, Jon almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"Donnie, that's not the whole story. You never got that mad at the others, not even Joe. Why me?" Donnie squirmed in his seat, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but there, doing anything but having this conversation.

"Jon. I've never told.. God damn." He let out a shaky exhale. "Jon, we all knew you were different. Not - not, bad different, just.. Even then. I knew it was more than you being shy."

It was Jon's turn to squirm. Donnie went on.

"I sensed it, and.. it scared me. Not because I was afraid you'd try to take liberties with any of us, but.." Jon's heart tripped over itself. "I.. felt it too. Just here and there. I'd see a guy at a show, or in a boring-ass meeting, maybe one of the roadies, and I wanted.. I just wanted.."

Jon felt instantly drunk. He shifted on his stool, wanting to close his legs to hide the erection swiftly forming there, but knowing that would only make things worse. "Donnie.." He hadn't meant his voice to come out so low, so.. sultry, but it was late, and they were supposed to be quiet. Donnie looked miserable, pale, unsure of himself, and it was all Jon could do to keep himself from touching him, to offer comfort.

"So even my ginger 'beard' didn't convince you, eh?"

Donnie laughed. "Not really. I couldn't believe ANYONE fell for that!" He turned serious again. "Jon, I've never told anyone about.. those feelings. Not even my wife."

Jon's face mirrored his friend's. "Well, it means a lot that you trusted me enough to tell me." This was like Donnie coming out, only, he wasn't. He stilled liked women, too, and he would never come out as bi - never. It could be career suicide, and a lot of lovers, male and female, wanted someone who was 'one or the other.' Bisexuals got a double-dose of hatred and fear: didn't fit in with the gay community, but didn't fit in with the hets, either. If Donnie had to hide a part of himself in order to get by, Jon shouldn't judge him. Still, he was sad for his friend, for his inability to live free, to find love in whatever form it took... Jon tried to push his personal pain aside. I'm upset for him, not myself, he told himself over and over. Who was kidding who?

"I'm sorry that my own demons made me turn on you. It wasn't your fault. I mean, you didn't make me feel 'that way'; it just.."

That stung more than Jon wanted to admit. "You didn't make me feel 'that way'?" He tried to hide it, the insult. Donnie caught it.

"Hey, man, I didn't mean - ahh, dammit.. Come on. You know you're hot stuff," he said, delivering the compliment with a bone-melting smile. Well, it melted SOME bones; others, it..

Jon took up his glass, draining his Jack at a swallow. "I know what you meant. Sort of."

A moment of silence followed, in which either one of them could have said anything, anything at all. They'd come this far; the genie couldn't be put back into the bottle. That moment, pregnant with possibilities, passed, and they both felt it ebbing away.

"It's late. Or early. Whichever. We should get some sleep." Donnie had almost said 'to bed,' but caught himself. Dr. Freud, your slip is showing..

"Yeah. You're right." Jon cleared away the detritus of their drinking session, his head fuzzy, but his body perfectly clear in what it wanted. Behind the bar, his body would not be exposed. Back in his own suite, he could take out his frustrations on the mattress with his fists, scream into the pillows, or choke the life out of his hard-on until he passed out. He knew there would be another one, and another, endless frustration as far as he could see, because he loved his friend, the friend he'd thought was totally straight, who had just offered up his darkest secret on a silver platter.. and Jon had fumbled. He might never get another chance like this again, and he had blown it. Was Donnie expecting to get hit on? Had he missed a subtle cue? He knew he'd be replaying this conversation over and over on many sleepless nights.

Donnie saw Jon out the door, unable to walk him back to his suite, in case he slipped up, said or did something which ruined everything. He wanted to touch his friend, to stay the night, or to call him back... Maybe he'd had too much to drink. Maybe not enough. Once his door was shut and locked, he fell against it with a groan. Had he screwed up in a permanent way, or could this be fixed later? Was he wrong in thinking Jon saw him that way? Maybe he did when we were young, Donnie thought, but not now. Was that it? He was in great shape physically, but he wasn't a teenager anymore. Chicks were so much more straightforward, and, not to brag, but they usually made it clear what they wanted. Men, well, they were more.. nuanced. Jon wasn't totally in the closet, but he wasn't exactly out dancing in hot-pants and a rainbow feather boa, either. Donnie knew a lot of fans had put two and two together and made four, but some were still waiting for the official announcement from the man himself, and he respected Jon's decision. Some held out hope that Jon was bi; hell, he might be, Donnie thought. He could just lean more towards men than women, the way D leaned more towards women than men.

What AM I?, he fell asleep wondering. His dreams brought no answers, or so he thought.

He was running through the woods. The air became cooler as he approached a small spring, and he sat to rest. As he settled, he felt skirts rustling around him; looking down confirmed that he was wearing a dress. It was heavy and uncomfortable, and he longed to remove it, but knew it was not safe to do so. Something made him turn around, and there he saw it, a man whose face was mask-still, paler than his own skin, not moving. Two other men stood guard over the body, and something about it all made Donnie very afraid. He couldn't run, simply sat and cried, weeping as if the dead man was precious to him. He tried to ask questions, but his voice wouldn't come. One of the men mouthed, 'War,' the other, 'Fever.' Then everything was fire and noise, the forest filling with smoke and the cries of battle. Donnie awoke, his eyes adjusting to the light of the bedside lamp as the remnants of the dream faded away.

Variations of the dream continued for several weeks, piquing Donnie's curiosity enough to send him to the internet for answers. Dream dictionaries didn't help him; neither did some of the internet forums he came across. He didn't understand all the New Age mumbo jumbo, and he wished there was someone who could explain things to him in language he would understand. Jon, meanwhile, was having disturbing dreams of his own, but of a different nature. Erotic dreams were usually welcome visitors to Jon's brain, especially since dreaming meant sleep, but these were out of control. The first few nights had Donnie being Donnie, flirting up a storm but never delivering; the next few nights had him acting increasingly feminine, which was unnerving.. but the last straw came when he dreamt of Donnie in a nurse's uniform. It wasn't even a HOT nurse's uniform; it looked like something out of some.. some.. historical drama. Wasn't D the one with a nurse kink? Jon hated needles, hospitals, doctors; his mom had forever nagged at him once he'd come of age, since once upon a time, he wouldn't even pop an aspirin unless his life depended on it. Some of his fear had lessened over time, but Jon still viewed medical intervention with mistrust.

The uniform had been so real, so vivid, and it picked at his brain during waking hours. "Victorian era," he mused, reading on. That era was full of war and disease, not exactly sexy stuff. Romantic to some, maybe, but not sexy. No way. It hadn't taken long to click on links taking Jon to Civil War sites, his unease growing with every paragraph. Anxiety attacks were nothing new to him, but getting freaked out over something so far in the past didn't make sense to him. There were modern-day wars, terrorism, even disease epidemics to fret over, so what was his deal?

Donnie found himself trying to forget, plunging headlong into Twitter and indulging his voyeuristic side with a little late-night lurking. His fans were a diverse group, and he enjoyed discovering what they were 'into,' other than the band. Some of them showed an amazing aptitude for the arts: drawing, painting, creating things of beauty. Others were deeply committed to their sports teams, even if their teams rivaled his. There were dancers, singers, actresses - all entertainers in their own right, and he cheered along with them at their triumphs. Then there were some who were into history in various ways: fiction, reenactments, etc. Donnie began to feel a pull toward a few fans in particular who seemed interested in American history.

As each man struggled with the strange dreams and flashes of confusing de ja vu, Donnie delved into the world of Victoriana. Something about the clothing of that time spoke to him, and he decided to join the online forum some of the fans talked about - incognito, of course. "I need a girl name, something that won't stand out, something forgettable.. uh.." He frowned, thinking hard. "Amy? Yeah, that'll work." Should he pick a last name? He'd need a bio, even if it was sketchy. "Amy Rawlings, 36, deep in the dirty South." There. That should be enough, right? One of the threads was a back-and-forth between two fans, discussing reincarnation. Each girl was sure that she had lived during the time of the Civil War, based on past-life readings done by another fan. Donnie was a nominal Catholic, unable to shake some of the tenets of the faith which had been instilled in him since birth, though he was open to the possibility of being proven wrong. Still - the notion of living more than one lifetime, rather than going to a permanent afterlife, flew in the face of everything he'd ever thought about death. Should he open that can of worms?

This was Donnie; of course he would.

'Amy' posted in the thread, expressing an interest in the topic and asking the two girls about this fan who did readings. One shot back, wary of this stranger:

"Why do you think you need a reading?"

Here Donnie faced a dilemma. Could he trust these people? They didn't know his real identity, but he needed answers to real, personal questions. Under the protection of the over-arching lie, Donnie found a twisted sort of freedom to be honest with them.  
"I've been having weird dreams about that time period, and they won't stop. I thought maybe the dreams could be a clue. Maybe I was there, or something."

Or something.

Soon the thread became a three-way conversation about the details of the dreams. Both girls agreed that sounded possible, and one, screen-name 'Marie,' said she'd brb. After a few minutes, she returned, along with a newcomer, screen-name 'Hannah.' Hannah, it turned out, was the one with the gift for seeing into people's pasts, and as the conversation continued, Donnie felt himself getting nervous. Hannah talked him through the process of getting a reading, and a huge obstacle presented itself: he would need to send her a photo of himself in order to get the answers he needed.

Shit. A photo? Ask me for a lock of hair, or an old sock, or even a urine sample - but a PHOTO?, he thought. D knew he'd have to talk to Hannah privately, to get assurances that she wouldn't tell anyone who he really was if he decided to trust her with this. He opened Hannah's Twitter in another window, scrolling down several weeks' worth. She seemed like a fairly quiet, normal lady, and she was a fan, so maybe she'd be happy to help him out. Then again, her being a fan meant that even sending in an old photo might give the game away. Besides, if she was truly able to read people, she'd recognize him. Shit, shit, shit.

To his surprise, Hannah offered a private email address where he could send his questions. Donnie had a dummy account from registering for the forum, so that was safe enough. One of his questions was, "Have you ever done any readings for public figures?" The answer was yes. When he asked for names, she declined, citing their right to privacy and reminding him that ALL of her customers were given confidentiality. Donnie was relieved, but he had to be careful.

"If I tell you I'm actually a man, will it matter?"

She laughed, telling him it wouldn't.

"If I tell you I'm someone you've heard of, will that matter?"

Hannah, getting butterflies, told him it wouldn't.

"If I tell you I'm someone you follow on Twitter, will THAT matter?"

Hannah knew it could only be one of a handful of people. Her money was on Jon, but she couldn't be that lucky - right? She hazarded her guess, and Donnie laughed. "Close, but no cigar. Can I trust you?"

At this point, he was so desperate, he felt he had little choice.

Jon noticed a change in Donnie. It was subtle, but it was there. D seemed more sure of himself, more playful, and yet more thoughtful. Jon was prone to daydreaming, but Donnie had never been one to sit still long enough. Now? Now he caught Donnie watching the world go by from the window of the bus, or welling up for no apparent reason. He had a new energy to him, but there was a peacefulness to it, and Jon had to know what was going on.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were knocked up," he teased.

Donnie put down his copy of 'My Name Is Mary Sutter' and looked at Jon, light shining from his eyes and dazzling his friend. "What?"

Jon took a step closer, wondering why his heart lurched as he did so. "You. You've been all dreamy and starry-eyed, full of energy, yet so.. serene, like the Madonna in a painting. You were freakin' humming to yourself, Donnie. HUMMING. What gives?"

Please don't say it's some girl, Jon thought. Or worse - don't say you've found a guy, a guy who.. who isn't me. I couldn't stand it..

Donnie smiled, like a man who has all the answers, even though he knew he didn't. "Oh, something somebody told me. That's all."

Jon knitted his brow. Was his friend deliberately exasperating him, or was it unconscious? "Come on! Who told you what?"

Donnie shook his head. "Come with me. I wanna show you something."

The next fifteen minutes consisted of Jon reading and re-reading Donnie's, well, reading. "I can't believe you let this girl know who you are. This could blow up in your face. People would call you crazy, believing in.." Jon stopped. He couldn't say it. Not yet.

Donnie seemed content, shrugging. "And if they did? Anyone could've sent her that photo of me, Jon. It would make HER look nuts."

Jon hadn't thought of that. That's Donnie - always able to find a loophole and drive right through it.

"So what made you ask her to do this?"

Ah, that was the heart of the matter. Donnie wasn't sure about opening up to Jon, which was silly; I mean, he'd poured his heart out to a fan - albeit, an edited version, leaving out the fact that he was attracted to Jon and didn't know how to handle it - and yet he couldn't confide in his best friend?

"I've been having strange dreams, Jon. They wouldn't stop. Now that I've had this done, it's gotten a little better." Well, 'better' as in the dreams were different. Less gruesome, but still confusing. Baby steps.

"Dreams?" Donnie saw Jon's farmer tan blanching before his very eyes. "Like what?"

Donnie told him - about the woods, the dress, the dead man, and the pain of the loss. "The pain is so real, Jon. I can't explain it, but - it's real. It happened." The reading had been sketchy on some details, but that made it more believable; liars usually put in too many details. Hannah had told Donnie that he had been a nurse in the Civil War, probably in the South; that she had not been a casualty of that war, living to an old age; that she had never married or had any children; and that her one great love had died during the war, though not in battle. She felt it was probable but not definite that the dead man in the dreams was Donnie's then-love, but it was also possible that he was a symbol of the patients she had lost, or of the horrors of war in general. Without any further clues to the man's identity, she couldn't be sure.

Jon needed a drink. "What did the dress look like?"

Donnie blinked, once, twice. All the things the man could've asked, and he picked such an odd question? "Here, I'll show you." He pulled up one of the photos he'd saved, and Jon winced, grabbing his shoulder in pain.

"Whoa, what happened?" Trying not to panic, Donnie placed a hand on Jon's other shoulder.

Jon hissed out a breath. "I don't know. I don't know. I just got this weird pain in my shoulder, like it's trying to seize up, and.."

Donnie immediately set about getting a heat pack, the kind you pop in the microwave for instant relief. He fetched Jon a glass of cold water, bringing both to his friend, worry lines etched on his face.

"I guess I overdid it at the last show," Jon offered helplessly. Donnie placed the pack against the shoulder, and Jon cursed.

"No, please, cold - I need something cold on it," he murmured, and Donnie went to grab a bag of frozen carrots to use as an ice pack. Neither of them spoke as Jon drank the water, Donnie's hand holding the ice pack in place until the pain subsided.

"Has it ever happened before?"

Jon didn't understand D's question, panicking that it was about something else he was feeling. "My shoulder? Yeah, here and there. The South Carolina show it was bad; I guess the heat or something makes it play up." Donnie was close enough to smell Jon's skin, mingled with the remnants of his shampoo.

"You want some aspirin, or some ibuprofen? In case the pain tries to come back?"

Without waiting for an answer, Donnie went in search of medicine. Something about D fussing over him felt.. right, though Jon was a proud man. What had he done to deserve such a sweet friend? It compounded his guilt over his desire. All he wants is to be a good friend, and I'm here wanting.. wanting.. Donnie offered Jon two ibuprofen in his outstretched hand, which Jon tried to swallow. Somehow they didn't quite go down, and he began to cough, renewing Donnie's panic. A few chugs of water and a pat on the back put him to rights, and both of them returned to the conversation. "That dress.. it's so like the one in the dream. Maybe my body freaked out when I saw it."

Donnie smiled gently. "Afraid of a dress, huh? Well, I'm afraid of open bodies of water, so don't feel bad."

Jon studied his friend. "Really? Is that why you hated cruises when we were younger?"

He shrugged. "It's part of it, yeah. I've always had this odd feeling that bad things are going to happen around water. Hannah says it probably means water had something to do with my death - or the death of someone I loved." Jon looked at the glass in his hand, almost remembering something.. and then it was gone again.

"Donnie. If I get one of these, reports, or, whatever, does that make me nuts? I mean, you got one, and I don't know, it doesn't seem so crazy. She didn't tell you anything about the future, like.."

"..like, "You will meet a tall, handsome stranger"? " Jon felt his pulse quicken. They both laughed, nervously.

"Right. So, you really trust this woman?"

Donnie nodded. "I do. What's the worst that could happen?"

What, indeed?

Jon's reading outlined his life as a soldier. His current love for nature - land, horses, open sky - weren't exactly secrets, but his unfulfilled wish to be a farmer once he was done being a soldier helped him understand his homebody leanings. Hannah also explained a lot about the spiritual issues war veterans often face when they reincarnate, which helped Jon figure out why he felt he was always having to prove himself by going up against people he felt were against him - but, perhaps more importantly, Hannah was able to fill him in regarding his main reason for 'coming back.' 

"You died before you could fulfill your greatest dream: to settle down with the one you loved. You dreamed of stability, family, and domestic bliss with someone who was your equal. Your view of women was very different to the norm, almost 'before your time.' You've had issues with sexuality in this lifetime, in part because you're afraid of getting hurt again - but also because your soul is still searching for that lost love. Yours has been a restless heart, and will remain so, until it finds a way to come home. " Jon read the words, feeling each one hit him in the solar plexus. Hannah had a lot more to say, but she couldn't cross that line without his permission; she had a feeling that she knew who Jacob's love had been then, and who that soul was now, but, unless Jon asked... Hannah said a prayer that 'Jacob' and 'Abigale' would find each other and finish what they'd started, putting it in the hands of a benevolent Universal Force. Jon's mind unraveled as he contemplated the implications: searching? In a world of billions of people? What were the odds he'd find her? What if 'she' wasn't even a she anymore? Donnie crept up beside his friend, nonchalantly glancing at the email.

"Did you get some answers?" Oh, his face, the picture of innocence.

"Yeah, and a whole lot of new questions." Jon sighed. Donnie patted him on the shoulder, trying to be reassuring.

"I hear you. I was the same way. At least you've got someone else in a similar situation, somebody who you can bounce ideas off of. If we're nuts, then at least-"  
"At least we're a PAIR of nuts," Jon finished, and they shared in the schoolboy humor.  
"Exactly."

The others had noticed Donnie and Jon seemed.. lost in their own world recently. Jordan wondered if his brother was finally figuring out his feelings, and whether Donnie was going to be receptive to them. Joey and Danny weren't sure what to think, but hey, at least those two weren't arguing, right? Each man had a new sense of purpose about them, sort of a glow. If it wasn't love, it was something close to it.

Things shifted up a gear when Danny glanced at Donnie's open email. Danny wasn't typically a nosy guy; it's just.. something pulled him in, and he read a few paragraphs. What he felt was a mixture of curiosity and mild alarm. What WAS this? Did Donnie take this stuff seriously? The man himself walked into view, frowning slightly at the intrusion, but keeping his temper in check. "Hey, Danny. What's up?"  
Danny, busted, had the decency to blush. "Sorry, man. I was just curious. You've seemed different lately, and this was left open.."

Donnie blinked, waiting. "So - what'd you think of it?"

Danny swallowed. "It's interesting. I.. You believe the stuff this woman is saying? It sounds like something out of a movie, or.. an epic music video."

The two friends exchanged a look. "Danny.."

"Why not? We've been trying for weeks to come up with a concept for 'We Own Tonight.' This could be what we're looking for! Think about it: the song already has the drums of battle at the intro; the camera shows a soldier going off to war, leaving his love behind, with flashbacks to the night he told her he was going.."  
Donnie couldn't believe what he was hearing. Danny the romantic? It had to be a joke. But Danny was already grabbing pen and paper, outlining ideas for the video. When he was finished with the first draft, he handed it to Donnie.

"Well well. You know, I like this. It's good, Danny. I didn't think I'd like it, but, I do." Jordan arrived, and the idea met with his approval too. Next, Joey entered stage left, an exaggerated look of curiosity plastered on his face. "You all writing mash notes without me?", he teased. Danny filled him in, and Joey glanced over the idea sheet. "I like, I like. Let's get TJ on the phone." TJ was the creative director, but Donnie felt confident that with four New Kids backing it, the concept would..

Shit. Four. What about Jon? Shouldn't he have a say? I mean, it kind of poked at some of his stuff, too. Reenacting the past could stir up intense emotions; would he be okay with that?

On cue, Jon arrived. "Jon, tell me what you think of this idea."

In Jon's mind, he could hear the swelling intro, the drums as the soldiers moved up a hill - only, they weren't in Civil War regalia. The uniforms were older, more like Revolutionary War garb. "I like this," he began, tentatively, "but I think we should show scenes of other wars, too: earlier ones, and later ones, right up to the present day." That would make the fans go bananas; so many of them were military wives, or in active service themselves. It would touch chords with the history buffs among them, and with the fans who loved Donnie's soldier roles, even the 'DDub's soldiers'. Jon hastened to add, "And we have to make sure we pay respect to the soldiers, without glorifying war. That's a fine line, guys." They all agreed. "But I think we can do it." Joey was already pitching the idea to TJ, pacing in his excitement. As he hung up, they all turned to him as one.

"It's a go. We start the shoot next Monday."

Donnie couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to squeeze Jon's hand. They all fell asleep that night with visions of love and war marching through their heads.

The wardrobe budget was going to exceed previous video shoots, but the guys couldn't get over the detailing of the costumes and how it enhanced the mood of the song. The opening shot saw each Kid suited up in a different era uniform: Jordan in a Revolutionary War one, Jon in a Civil War uniform, Joey in a WWII uniform, Danny in a Vietnam War uniform, and Donnie in an Iraq War uniform. As the five men marched side by side up a hill, they were to pretend the others were invisible, symbolizing the fact that each soul fights its own battles. Behind them were streams of extras in all the various uniforms, playing drums and carrying weapons. The fact that hundreds of years of combat were represented in one shot was meant to highlight the cyclical nature of war, as well as its futility, as if to say, "We've been here so many times before - why are we doing it again?" The day had started out so clear, but a strange mist settled upon the location - enough to give it atmosphere, but not enough to halt production. In between takes, three of the guys joked around, taking selfies in their get-ups or posing for pics with extras. Donnie and Jon were in a more serious mindset, grappling with emotions they couldn't begin to unpack. If they felt this strongly during the opening sequence, imagine how they'd feel as they got deeper into character?

The women playing the 'left behind' lovers were chosen with care. Each one had to fit their era, and they had to be pretty, yet believable - no glamor models or society types. These were real women who could get a little dirty, who could emote on cue, and who were women fans would relate to. Some of the outfits were downright homely, but the girls took it all in stride, glad to be playing the leading ladies to such handsome soldiers. Jordan's farewell scene was first, filled with unspoken words and unfulfilled longing as he took leave of his lady. He had to film various pieces of his pre-war life: a meal; an argument (no voices heard, just angry faces and moving mouths drowned out by the music); a walk through the woods with his girl; and then Jordan gathering his belongings as he set off to fight. Her face when he left was enough to break your heart, and they got that scene in one take. Jordan's soldier made it back, injured but alive, and the reunion was a joyous one, followed by a simple wedding scene. The Rev uniforms sent chills through Donnie and Jon, though they couldn't say why. Several fans were interested in the French Revolution, and the uniforms were similar to the French ones, with subtle but significant differences. Filing that fear away to be explored another day, the friends watched as Joey shot his scenes.

Joey's flashbacks consisted of a night on the town, drinking and dancing with his love; a small family gathering at Christmas; working on his car, his pride and joy; a lover's tiff; and finally, the day he got his draft orders, morphing into the night he left for the battlefield. He put a ring on his girl's finger as they said goodbye, which she removed in another scene, placing it on a fine silver chain and concealing it beneath the collar of her dress. She held his photo and wept, from which we were to gather that he would not be coming home to her. Then her life flashed forward to her playing with an toddler with startling blue eyes. The viewers are left to wonder: was it Joey's, or had she found someone else? At any rate, she mouthed 'Joseph' lovingly as she called to her son, allowing her soldier's memory to live on.

Danny's girl was halfway between flower child and disco chick, and she looked like she could've stepped out of a women's rights protest news reel. His flashbacks included a late-night dip in the lake with his girl, a dinner date, painting the little house they were renting together (and getting messy in the process!) and having a heated exchange as he packed to leave. When he returned, he was blind in one eye and confined to a wheelchair, but his girl stood by him. Their flash forward showed two girls running around the house, each with hair as dark as their father's, and a happy couple who had adjusted to their new normal.

Donnie's girl was dressed in fairly contemporary fashion, representing the current conflict. Their scenes showed them on a date at the movies, dancing at a club, having dinner at home, and a disagreement as he broke the news that he had enlisted. She watches the news obsessively, fearing his name will be among the casualties. We see her at home, answering a knock at the door. As soon as she sees people in uniform, she collapses, sobbing; she knows what they've come to tell her. A female officer helps her inside, and the flash forward sees the bereft woman in a classroom, facing her students. The camera pans to the kids, all girls, all wearing headscarves. She has dedicated her life to fighting hatred and ignorance with knowledge and compassion, rather than guns and bombs.

Jon's pre-war montage had him plowing a field and caring for livestock, a nod to his past-life wish to be a farmer. He meets a girl from the neighboring farm, and they began a chaste courtship, holding hands and exchanging glances, but not much more. We see him reading to his younger siblings, with a dreamy look that speaks of longing to someday be a father. His farewell to his lady takes place at night, with her weeping and begging him not to go. The fact that we can't hear any dialogue means that their faces must do all of the talking, and they do. Jon's fate is to die, his dreams left unrealized. His love goes on, becoming a nurse on the battlefields which have claimed so many good men. In this way, she honors his memory, doing for others what she was unable to do for Jon.

Jon had insisted that the storyline not adhere too closely to his real past, worrying it would be too painful, and TJ had respected that. The pre-war scenes and post-war scenes were fairly straightforward, but the next day's shoot would be more arduous, with staged explosions and fake deaths galore. The guys were relieved to go 'off duty' and enjoy some down time. Donnie and Jon had a lot of trepidation about the shoot, but D had a double dose. They needed to discuss the shoot so far, and figure out why he was so scared about tomorrow. Tonight was a bus night, keeping them close to the location, and the cricket song was audible just beyond the metal walls.

"That was intense. I can't believe how much we got done in one day! Are you tired?"

"No. I was pumped all day. It felt so real; the pain of leaving, and the grief of the deaths.. There was a weird energy going on all around us. Did you feel it?"

Donnie nodded. "Yeah." Pause. "Jon.. I don't like the idea of you doing the battle scene."

Jon propped his head on one hand, looking intently at his friend. "Why not? It's not like I'm gonna be doing anything really dangerous, like, dancing."

Donnie tried to smile, but faltered. Jon tried again.

"And there aren't any trap doors. I'm not going to fly out over the fans on a harness --"

"Jon, I mean it. I don't have a good feeling about it."

Jon sighed. "Each of us has to do a battle scene. You know that. You're used to this; you do some of your own stunts, and you're almost --"

"Don't say it," Donnie warned, laughing a little to soften it. "I know how old I am." He wondered how old he had lived in other lives, and how much time was left in this one. Was there a room full of clocks somewhere, ticking down, one for each heart? He had so much he still wanted to do.

"Donnie, we'll be fine. All of us. We have a first aid team here, and the effects team will be monitoring every blast and puff of smoke. I'm not an actor, but if you and Joey can do it, I can do it. You'll see."

There was a lull, Donnie trying to put his fears into words. When he turned back to Jon, his eyes were closed, a look of absolute calm etched on his face. Donnie decided to try to sleep, too, hoping Jon's confidence was well-founded.

Joey's scene went off without a hitch, and he seemed to enjoy himself - even the 'pretending to die' thing. If Donnie had his way, the boy would get an award for making his death grimace look almost like an O face. Danny's injury scene was grueling to watch, but Donnie reminded himself over and over that it wasn't real, that his friend was okay. Danny had done some neat wheelies and tricks in the wheelchair the day before, almost like break-dancing, and D focused on the memory to keep himself from crying. Jordan's injuries were less severe, but the way he was pulling faces, you'd be forgiven for thinking he wasn't gonna make it. Donnie died with skill, with an anxious Jon looking on, hoping he'd never see any of his friends die in real life. It was Jon's turn, the last scene of the shoot, keeping up with the grand tradition of filming things out of sequence. They were losing light, bringing in artificial ones to simulate daytime. Donnie's nerves were going into hyper-drive, even with the other guys' efforts to calm him down. He suddenly wished they'd all done the battle scenes together, though that would have meant more costume changes and umpteen takes. "It's fine. It's fine." Those two words were his mantra, but they brought little reassurance. The 'old weapons' meant more smoke and noise than modern ones, and the charges were being unpredictable. A few failed to function on cue, coming several beats late and making Jon legitimately fearful - great for the video, not for his nerves. TJ checked in with him, and he opted to keep going.

With the music flooding his being, Donnie felt something huge was about to happen. He couldn't describe the panic, but he could taste it, and it was bitter. Donnie was still in costume, refusing to go change, preferring to keep Jon in sight at all times. Jon was on the ground, his cap lost in the chaos, belly-crawling toward death, determined to survive or go down fighting. Donnie recognized the genuine stubbornness in his friend's eyes, his determination to face this challenge, and he tried to silently cheer him on.. but then it happened.

With a scream, a charge went off, its trajectory miscalculated, grazing Jon's left shoulder. Everything took place at once: Jon cried out in pain, and Donnie dove in head-first without thinking, running past the crew and nearly tripping over equipment to reach Jon. As he fell to the ground, grabbing Jon's uninjured arm and knocking off his own helmet in the process, the pair exchanged a look. In that moment, Donnie's heart was revealed; this was the one he had come back for, the one who understood him in a way no one else could. The director yelled "CUT!", and the scene became pandemonium, first aid crew rushing out of their tent, executives bickering with each other over safety issues and lawsuits, the other New Kids fighting their way to their friends...

Donnie wouldn't let go of Jon's hand as he was led away, the walking wounded, to receive treatment. TJ, though upset that there had been an actual injury, was beside himself with the dramatic footage. "That's the shot, guys. I'm telling you, that's IT! It's GOLD!" He watched the playback, the exact moment when he had seen the love-light in Donnie's eyes, the utter devotion. He knew he had to convince everyone to keep that frame in the final cut. Jon's face, though etched in pain, had answered that declaration without a word, his eyes beaming out that same unfailing love. It didn't matter that a 'future' soldier had jumped in to help one from the past; in a strange way, it made sense. They were fighting their own battles, true, but there was overlap - in war, and in love. Elements of the human experience were timeless, and maybe the modern man trying to help the historical one could be a metaphor for human efforts to remedy past mistakes. TJ spun it a dozen different ways, but it all boiled down to the inescapable conclusion: those two men loved each other and belonged together. As TJ ran the footage back several more frames, he noticed something odd: When Donnie had leapt in to help Jon, he had screamed out, "Jacob!" Was that a nickname, maybe an inside joke? It didn't make sense.. but of course, it did.

With the footage they had and a little judicious editing, the video was a wrap. The party was subdued, taking into account that one of their own was injured, but there was still a sense of camaraderie and fun. Hannah got an email update about the video, with the understanding that it was not to be made public knowledge - a sort of thank you, and a further sign of their trust in her - along with a special request for a joint reading. This was the moment she'd been waiting for, hoping she'd get this chance, itching to see if the pieces of the puzzle fit together the way she felt they would. As she looked at the photos of them side by side, her mind was flooded with information; un-jumbling it would take effort. Her first impression was that these two had been in love before, but it had remained unconsummated; Hannah resisted that, wanting to be sure she wasn't seeing it because she WANTED to. As a major Donathan shipper, she was wary of reading things that weren't there - but every time she looked again, tapping into her intuitive zone, she was hit with the same feeling: they had been lovers in every way but the physical. How were they going to take the news? Jon, having blazed the man-love trail for much of his life, would probably be an easier sell; but Donnie? Donnie the ladies' man, whose renowned skills of pillow-talk had launched an online radio show and caused a spike in the sale of ShamWows, and whose acting career had consisted of 99.9% heterosexual roles? He wasn't a homophobe by an means, but there was a big difference between tolerating something in other people and doing it oneself. Still, she had a job to do, to tell the truth as she saw it and let the chips fall where they may. With a deep breath, she finished typing up her reading and hit 'send.' Time would tell what their response would be.

The powers that be controlling the release of the video decided it would be a good idea to have a screening party. Jon and Donnie had one condition: only fans who'd never won anything NKOTB-related could win - no more favoritism. Every entrant's Twitter name was screened against the names of those who entered and won previous prizes and those who got the most tweets and DMs. The attendees would be 'newbies,' and the guys even took it a step further, monitoring the entrants' timelines and bios, looking for fans who didn't get many chances to attend concerts and events. The end result was a theater full of very excited, extremely grateful fans, giving everyone a nice buzz, no alcohol required.

Donnie hadn't checked his email for a few days, too caught up in preparations for the release party, but Jon offered a gentle reminder.

"Okay, okay. Can we open it just before the screening? We'll sit down and read it together." Jon's stomach was in knots, but he agreed; that way, if it was bad news of any kind, they'd have the screening to take their minds off of it. If it was good news? Well, it would enhance their enjoyment of the night's activities. After dinner, they made their excuses to be alone.  
"Are you ready?"  
Jon swallowed hard. "Will I ever be?"  
The email was lengthy, and they took their time, making their way through it line by line. With both of their energies to feed off of, Hannah was able to get more information on their lives - and deaths, including the nature of Jon's injury.

"My left shoulder," he breathed, barely audible. "I got shot in my left shoulder. Then when I read her first email, I got a pain there. Finally, I got hit there during the video shoot." The doctor seemed to think there would be little, if any, scarring - but Jon knew the scar was on his very soul. Knowing his injury had repeated itself as a red flag to point to his past life was an eerie feeling. They read on, as, in very careful language, she made her assertions: Yes, she believed they had loved each other then, and, yes, she felt they had chosen to find each other again in order to finish what they'd started. Hannah stressed the importance of free will - they weren't bound to follow that set path to its natural end - but also pointed out that, if they left things unfinished in this life, they would have to finish them in a future lifetime. "A need that is met goes away; a need that is ignored will come out some other way." She likened it to a newborn's need for its mother; if that need is denied, then the child will likely become clingy, or, conversely, fail to form healthy attachments. Avoiding what is necessary will only lead to issues down the line.

Both men sat in silence. Was this a nightmare being realized, or was it a dream come true?

"What are you thinking right now?"

Jon shifted in his seat. "What are YOU thinking?"

"I asked you first."

Jon laughed. "Shall we each write down what we're thinking, and exchange notes at the same time?"

Donnie shook his head. "I'm thinking this is gonna take a while to sink in." Jon fought to disguise his hurt. What had he expected - that Hannah would say the magic words and Donnie would fling himself into his arms, declaring undying love? This had to be a shock for him.

Donnie couldn't say what was on his mind - not until he had some idea that Jon wouldn't shoot him down. He had found himself becoming more certain of his feelings lately - maybe looking into the past had made him more aware of the now, and of what could be in the future - but he wasn't sure. Just because Jon liked men, didn't mean he liked HIM. There was an awkward tension, much like the one that had hovered and hummed on the night of their drinking session. There was no anger; only a certain.. uneasiness. Donnie only hoped no one else would pick up on it.

As the car containing all five Kids parked in the employee lot of the theater, they were all smiles. There was a brief run-down of the rules, to ensure the safety and enjoyment of all present, along with a warning that the video depicted scenes of battle which might upset some viewers, and then the New Kids took their seats in the back row. Watching the fans' reactions was beyond fun, and the surround-sound made everything more dramatic and real. Donnie and Jon were sandwiched between Joey and Danny, with Jordan on the end. It was odd, seeing himself onscreen, larger than life, showing genuine emotion, Jon thought. Joey and Donnie were used to acting, but Jon was far from that world. Still, it would be great to have this moment in time, the five of them together in such an intense video. Joey bit his nails as the footage of Jon's injury played out for all to see. There were gasps from several fans; the blast had been searing hot, and the blood was real... but that was nothing compared to the response to what happened next.  
As the audience witnessed Donnie diving into harm's way to save a wounded Jon, there were eruptions of applause, and more than a few tears, already on the brink of spilling, were seen to fall. The look between the two friends said more than any poem or lyric could ever attempt to say, and the sobbing became subdued as everyone was stunned. As the final notes of the song faded like drums into the distance, all heads turned as one to the back row. Donnie, unable to fight it any longer, squeezed Jon's hand. "They're all staring. Why are they all staring?", Jon hissed. The other Kids were staring, too, Joey's eyes shining with hope, Jordan's turning darker with embarrassed brotherly happiness, and Danny's softening with understanding and acceptance. In an instant, the crowd was on its feet, whooping and cheering, clapping like thunder in endless waves. The Kids duly stood, accepting the praise, though their REAL appreciation was for something more important than a music video.

As the guys formed a meet-and-greet line at the front, the fans moved forward in groups of five, ensuring that each one got to stand with a Kid for the photo. Everyone behaved themselves, which made it feel less like work and more like a party. When the photos were finished, it was time for the after-party, which all five were set to attend (Danny breaking his early-to-bed rule for a change). As a surprise, each guy opted to ride with a group of fans to the venue, which meant Donnie and Jon wouldn't get a chance to talk until later. The club was small and intimate, and the music was a good mix of New Kids tracks and other artists, ensuring a packed dance floor. Donnie managed to find Jon and drag him to a quiet corner for a moment.

"What do you suppose they were all thinking?"

Jon frowned. "I think they were rooting for us to get together, don't you?"

Donnie could barely hear his friend. "Can we step outside? Can't hear you."

The fire exit wasn't alarmed properly, allowing staff and party-goers to slip out for smoke breaks - though it wasn't a cigarette Jon wanted between his lips.

"I said, I think they were all cheering because they wanted us to get together, Donnie."

He was only a couple of drinks in, and the liquor hadn't hit his bravado yet. Donnie considered this.

"Well, that's cool that they, you know, accepted the idea. I mean, whenever I'm rumored to be involved with a girl, some fans get, kinda.."

Jon sighed. He knew how the fans got jealous; he got jealous, too. "Yeah. It is cool."

Pause. "So.."

"So what? You gonna put it to a vote? Take a poll?"

I should be better at this, Donnie thought, working up courage. "I don't care anymore what fans think. I don't care what anyone else thinks."

Was that the bass thumping, or Jon's heart?

"Jon.. When I jumped in to save you, I called you 'Jacob.' I don't know if fans could read my lips or not, but, I saw it, plain as day. I didn't think before I reacted, I just.. I just went with my feelings."

"You did call me Jacob. I know. I guess it didn't register at the time, but, I saw it at the screening."

"So, this is me, not thinking, just.. feeling." This was probably not the romantic reunion Jacob and Abi would have planned - a kiss in a back alley - but it was a beginning, and that was enough. Donnie's hands cupped Jon's face, and then he was there, moving beyond the invisible bubble he had never breached in all the years of looking and longing. The kiss was one of promise, and of surrender, giving in to the unknown and accepting whatever happened.

"I let you down before, Donnie. I'm sorry."

"Do you mean by dying?"

"That, but, I mean in this life, too. There were times I should've said something, done something.. like that night."

Donnie didn't have to ask which night Jon was referring to. "Walking you back to your room was a dumb move. That was a long walk, Jon, every second gnawing at me, my brain screaming at me.. But I had to be sure. The timing wasn't right."

Donnie had ended the kiss, but hadn't moved more than a few inches from Jon's lips. They met again, finding a way to speak without words, to soothe away the hurt feelings and misunderstandings, the tortured nights of second-guessing, the burning dreams...

The fire door swung open, hitting the bricks beside them with a thunk. "Hey you guys, are you okay out h- Oh, shit. Sorry," Joey offered sheepishly, though secretly, he'd been praying to find them like this, even offering to do good works on behalf of various saints if they'd grant his petition. Was there even a patron saint of boy-bands? There ought to be.

Donnie didn't move, just slid his eyes over to Joey's blushing face, giving him a wink before returning his focus to Jon. Joey closed the door as gently as he could, standing guard at the inside to ensure the pair wasn't interrupted again. Jon's hands worked their way inside Donnie's jacket, the backs of them brushing against the leather worn soft with the years as he rested them on his hips. Where they belonged.

"You're getting cold, Jon. I can feel you shivering."

"I'm n-not shivering from cold." It was a half-lie.

"Jon, there's always later. I'm sure Joey's in there breathing fire and threats against anyone thinking of trying to hang out with either one of us after the party. We need to go back in to see the fans - and to keep me from doing something that could very well get us arrested."

Jon grinned. "Ah yeah? Which part or parts of the penal code were you thinking of violating?" He snickered.

"The penal code. I'll give YOU the penal code. Look at you, using cop lingo! Been watching Blue Bloods, have we?"

Jon snorted. "Yeah, with the lights off. Somethin' about the way you handle your gun, and those cuffs you carry around.."

Jon turned to go in, but Donnie grabbed his hand, pulling him close for one more kiss.

"I love you, Jon. You got that, right?"

Jon felt something catch in his throat. "I got it. I love you, too, Donnie."

"The past is the past. We can't change it. But we have another chance. I'm gonna make the most of it - starting now."

"Me too. I'm gonna make it up to you, everything I should've given you the first time around."

Back inside, they were the hottest couple on the dance floor, inflaming passions and melting hearts.

Jacob and Abi. Jon and Donnie. The way it should be.


End file.
